


Moonflower - Queen of the Night

by FrangipaniFlower



Category: Strange Angel (TV)
Genre: F/M, I added some of the sex magick we were promised, Thelema
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 02:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: Episode 1.05 gave us that wonderful trip to the desert and that heartbreaking conversation between Maggie and Ernest. We learnt a little more about the relationship of those two - and I wanted to explore what would happen if not only Maggie wereneedy. Because I think Ernest does want her in his life - he doesn’t like to choose.





	Moonflower - Queen of the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SNQA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SNQA/gifts), [LauraWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraWrites/gifts).



_Ernest: “What’s wrong? Were you upset ‘cause we were out all night? Thought we agreed we wouldn’t act this way anymore.”_

_Maggie: “Act what way?”_

_Ernest: “Needy.”_

_Maggie: „No, you’re absolutely right. We agreed there would be no limitations, as long as you told me the truth.”_

_Ernest: “What did I lie about exactly?”_

_Maggie: “This trip was never about making new friends or spending time with me. It was all part of some goddamned recruitment. Susan told me you had taken them. Guess you’ve given up on her, but him…he still has some promise. Congratulations. You’ll be moving up to the next degree in no time.”_

_Ernest: „It’s not that at all. I wanted you there, too. I wanted all of it.”_

_Maggie: “Of course you did, because you never want to have to choose.”_

_Ernest: “You said when you came back here, you were gonna try and accept it.”_

_Maggie: “I do accept it, Ernest, but when you tell me we’re going camping with the neighbors, I want to believe we’re just going camping. You’ve already scared away most of our old friends. Do we have to scare away the new ones, too?”_

_Ernest: “Why do you think a man like Jack wants to be friends with a man like me? Thelema’s the only thing I have to offer.”_

 

————————————

 

Maggie abruptly turns away and leaves the room, crying probably. Or angry. Or both. 

Less than a week together and they are back to where they were before she left.

She had promised it would be different this time. So had he.

Thelema does not support the institution of marriage, but it does not denigrate it either.

Ernest still thinks they can make it work. He _wants_ to make it work.

But there are other things he wants too, even more so after last night.

_It is only in the union of our opposites that we are freed from this pain and made whole._

But without Maggie, everything is nothing. And with Maggie, everything is – difficult. Some things might even be impossible. She’s holding him back. He‘s like one of Jack‘s rockets, there’s a part that needs to be set free. 

_“I can be happy, I can be sad. I can be good, or I can be bad. It all depends on you. I can be lonely out in the crowd. I can be humble, or I can be proud. It all depends on you.”_

The song she sang fucks with his mind. He remembers the night she sang that on stage, her eyes searching his in the corner of the dark room, holding his gaze, long and then longer, a sole spotlight bathing her with light, illuminating her beautiful face, highlighting the gentle curves of her dress. 

It was green silk.

She accepted his invitation for a drink that night and kissed him afterwards. She leant against his car, the cool silk an erotic contrast to the heat radiating from her skin when he brought his hand up to her neck, fondling her white skin, horny and stunned. 

She sang that song every night after that - it was the last song of her performance.

 

She’s standing near the window when he enters the room, wearing a long nightdress without sleeves, the straps crossing over her back, silk again, bare feet, her hair falling down over her shoulders.

The Parsons‘ house is dark.

Her face is wet from tears when he turns her with a firm grip on her shoulders to face him.

„Maggie,“ he whispers, „it’s not you who has to prove anything. It’s me.“

His voice is low and his hands are stroking her naked arms, and there’s a pleading strain in his voice which always makes her falter.

And if it’s not his voice it’s his hands, caressing her body through the cool silk, regaling her senses.

He could never buy her such a dress, or invite her for dinner, or pay for the house or anything. It’s her money, and it’s her work which brings new money home.

So she paid for her lingerie herself. It’s smooth and thick silk, feeling cool and beautiful under his calloused fingers, as delicate as her skin.

He kisses away her tears - she doesn‘t speak nor does she move away.

„Maggie,“ he whispers, „Moonflower. Queen of the night. My Queen.“

„A Queen. But not a priestess,“ her voice is flat.

„My queen. My wife. My north star.“

„One of the two poles. But not the universe.“

„Maggie,“ his voice trails off into a soft sigh as he kisses her lips, his hand smoothing over cool silk, following the curve until his thumb finds her nipple and gently brushes over it, Maggie’s gasp against his lips sending a pleasurable jolt up his spine.

„How can you still worship and feel longing when there’s plenty and in abundance at that place?“ Maggie whispers when they break the kiss and he closes his palm around her breast.

He won’t answer. He won’t allow his mind to go there. He won’t allow her to go there.

It’s two steps to their bed and he drops on his knees when she sinks onto the cheap mattress, his hands smoothing her dress upwards.

He opens her legs and lets his hands roam north, his thumbs parting the delicate curls, ghosting over the most tender spot, pleased when his wife‘s whimper indicates surrender. 

He looks up to see her beautiful face, her skin a colour like cream and ivory, her green eyes misty like the Irish sea, her red curls framing her features.

She closes her eyes and parts her red lips when his finger enters her, her mouth forming a small o now, the mental image it creates making him nearly lose his focus for a second.

He makes her lie back with a gentle pressure against her arm with his free hand, and when she does he closes the distance, hooks his finger just a little and starts to lick and kiss her. 

When her hips surge upwards, he uses his arm to lock her down to the mattress, his finger inside her and his lips and tongue performing the dance only she and he know.

She taught him this, like she taught him so many other things, and made him the man he was until he met… But he’s not going there tonight, can’t even, feeling his own arousal clouding his mind as reaction to Maggie’s moans, her taste and her writhing.

She brings her legs around his shoulders, locks them around him, locks him where she wants him, and when his tongue licks her clit, fast and wet, she releases with a scream.

He keeps her in that sweet oblivion, slower movements now, her body trembling while experiencing the most intense bliss, desperate to make her his over and over again.

It’s only when Maggie completely stills that he withdraws his finger and lets go of her, his own erection painfully rubbing against the fabric of his pants as he gets up.

She looks up to him as he rises and looms above her, his eyes locked with hers, dark with desire and pent up emotions.

Silently and gracefully Maggie gets up, the silk of her gown sliding down her endless legs again as she positions herself about three arm‘s lengths away from him and raises her arms to undress, slowly and seductively.

It’s not a dance and yet it is, their bedroom is her stage, and he’s her audience, watching in silent admiration as she reveals what he’s longing to own and feel, inch by inch, a sphinx-like smile playing around her mouth.

He’s still standing next to their bed as she sinks to her knees in one elegant movement.

She swiftly loosens his belt and lets his pants drop to the floor as he pulls his dirty shirt over his head, holding his breath when her fingernails drag over the skin of his legs, just shy of painful.

She catches the bead at the top of his cock with her tongue, her eyes never leaving his face, but then she leans back a little and doesn’t make any more contact other than raking her fingers over his ass and along his legs, coming tantalizing close but not close enough.

„I‘m not yours to take because of a ritual. I‘m not a vessel to be filled to establish your power,“ Maggie states with a quiet resolve.

Her hand closes around him as she talks, not firm enough and yet so promising. This is no consecrated ceremony, and yet it’s the oldest form of worship. She’s his equal, stronger than him in so many ways, weak only when he tries to break her and the bond they have.

He hates the pain he causes her. And yet he knows there’s no way back to be the person he once was, before joining the lodge and finding a higher truth. 

But right now it’s her and him, her hand around him, her eyes roaming over his body, her mouth placing a kiss on his abdomen, and then one more, and then it’s a trail of kisses leading south, slowly, painstakingly slow, a finger slipping between his buttocks, tracing deeper, drawing a slow circle, her gorgeous mouth awaiting him, her lips still promising, soft and red.

_Bull‘s Eye Red_ – that‘s what he called it after the first blowjob she gave him, they both had a little too much to drink and had spent all night talking and dancing and drinking.

„Maggie,“ he breathes, „Maggie, please.  
This is different –“

„It always is,“ another slow circle around his back entrance and a brief firmer stroke with her hand. „Question is, is different or is it unique?“

„Maggie, fuck,“ he moans, his cock twitching in her hand, „no one will ever be what you are to me, no one will ever– fuck–“

„So what is this Ernest? A _powerful union of opposites_ or a man and a woman who love each other? Cause if the one, then I don’t want it, if it’s the other, I‘ll bear my soul to you. And everything else you might ask for,“ she finishes the sentence with a smile he‘d die for.

„It’s you and me and no one else,“ he groans, his hands on her shoulders now, steading himself, and of course he means it. 

That moment, he means it.

„Beg,“ she breathes, the tip of her finger slowly intruding, causing his stomach to heave and his breath to pause for a second.

„I‘m begging. Maggie, please. I‘m begging.“

She kisses the tip of his cock before she parts her lips for him and lets him push into her, all the while her finger gently ventures forward, doubling his pleasure.

Lust and longing, arousal and frenzy take over when she starts to build a rhythm, pleasing him from both sites, her finger brazenly moving back and forth as she sucks and swirls her tongue around him. 

When he closes his eyes in complete abandon, his legs already getting weak, his brain supplies the lively image of a man with a mask, his tux pants unzipped, thrusting into the mouth of a woman he never saw before, and it’s that image that nearly takes him off before he can open his eyes again. 

 

There’s no greater clarity, no new stage of consciousness, no enlightenment when he releases into her mouth with a loud moan, his breathing ragged and irregular. He never had that with her. Just the mind-boggling pleasure shooting him into nirvana, the love he feels for her which makes his heart burst into pieces, and the blissful desire for more, and then more.

 

Folding over, he collapses on the floor, cradling her beautiful form in his arms and against his chest, unable to utter any coherent sound.

This is how they lie, curled up on their bedroom floor, neither of them willing to get up.

It’s the best feeling he had since he moved here - this moment, and this morning when Jack came back from his trip to the moon and suddenly hugged him.

„Ernest,“ Maggie disturbs his musings, „can we talk?“

„Sure,“ he sighs, feeling a painful surge of foreboding, „go ahead. Great way to kill a mood.“

„It’s important,“ she sighs and sits up, her beautiful breasts providing a promising view.

„It’s true that I offered there would be no limitations anymore.“

„Maggie–“

„Let me finish. There aren’t. _Do what thou wilt_. But what goes for you, goes for–“

„Who? With whom?“ he growls, not realizing the bitter injustice and hurt of that sentence until it’s too late.

„I said, let me finish. Your freedom doesn’t end where my pain begins, you made that very clear.“

„Maggie. At the lodge, it’s different. It’s not about –“

„I read enough, Ernest, to know what it’s about, among other things maybe, but I know what’s front and center. And I assume that my existence in your life is an obstacle which ties you to a lesser rank.“

„Maggie.“

His pleading tone tells her she’s right, and so she keeps going.

„So here‘s my decision. First, I want to join you at one of the services. I want these people to see me. As your wife.“

„Thelema does not denigrate the concept of marriage.“

„Neither does it uphold it. Unless one is into polygamie, that is.“

„It’s not like that.“

„Whatever it is, I will see it with my own eyes.“

He nods silently.

„And then there’s this. I‘m not saying this to threaten you. But _do what thou wilt_ applies for me as well, I guess. To me, that means that I won't stay if I can't see a future for us — where I'm happy, too. I won’t make you choose. I‘ll just be gone one day. We don’t need ever to talk about it again. But if the man who followed me over a whole continent, who made laugh and cry and happy and drunk like no one else before, who drove all night to show me the sunrise at the Pacific, who made me leave my life behind me and start over new, who swore to love me until death do us apart, whom I love from the bottom of my heart and with the width of my soul,“ she‘s crying now and so is he. „When that man doesn’t believe in us anymore, when sexual monogamy and faith become a pawn in a cult, when lies govern our life, when each gesture holds potential for betrayal and pain, and when women become instruments named priestesses, used for dark magic, and when that man who used to be my best friend believes in that more than he does believe in us–“

„Maggie,“ he chokes out, „stop. Just stop.“

Taking her hand, he sits up as well and makes them both get up and sit on their bed before he cradles her and buries his tear stained face in her hair.

„With you,“ he presses out, „I am that man. Can’t that be enough?“

„I never said you aren’t enough. I‘ve never feltl that way, Ernest. You _are_ enough. More than that.“

As he doesn’t answer and just keeps holding her as she goes on.

„If you find something in Thelema that you find anywhere else I won’t hold you back. Just know you have so much to offer without Thelema. As a man, as a friend, as a partner, as my husband.“

When her voice trails off, he releases his tight grip and bends her head slightly backwards to look at her, his inner turmoil visible in his eyes.

„I didn’t say you are the one being needy. I said _we_. And I meant exactly what I said.“

„There’s a fundamental difference between us. I don’t consider needing you as weakness.“

„And yet you‘d leave me.“

„I would, yes.“

Leaning in, she kisses him, her lips parting as she receives his kiss in return, their tongues meeting as his hand comes up to fondle her breast.

„I need you, Maggie. I need you now. Can that be enough for now?“ he whispers before their kiss deepens and her breathing hitches, his hands busy again playing with her nipples and roaming over her skin.

She’s still wet from before when he reaches between her legs and she says it’s a safe day, and then she opens a small jar on her nightstand and introduces one of the small vinegar sponges into her vagina, sucking in a sharp breath when it burns briefly.

He kisses and caresses her, deteemined to make her feel all the love he feels for her – letting her know that tonight, it’s just about her, about them, not looking into the muddied waters ahead of them.

He gently pushes her backwards to lie on her back but moves her legs upwards, waiting for for her to take the cue and to bend her legs when his hands glide under her hips to support her for what’s to come.

Her slender feet rest against his chest when he pushes into her and pulls her hips against his abdomen, two simultaneous movements to fill her and bring her close.

She loves that moment of surrender when he is completely in control of both of their movements and pleasure, his eyes holding her glance and telling her all she needs to know, that there’s still hope, that there’s still love, and that losing her for real would tear him apart. He fucks her slowly, deeply, each thrust lasting a measured few seconds, a steady rhythm while his large hands cup and hold her ass so that she can lose herself with him.

„Don’t leave me,“ he rasps out just before he builds up a faster pace, a tear rolling down his cheek.

She knows he means it, but she also knows he tasted too much of the forbidden fruit to go back to the before. The decision will be hers.

„Ssh,“ she whispers, tilting her hips upwards and then in a slow circle, and then again, making his whole body tense as he pushes into her faster and harder now, making her feel cherished and worshipped as the pleasure threatens to rip her apart.

He feels his orgasm building up at the base of his spine, a force, and when she lowers her legs and buries her heels into his ass, he slams into her, hard and deep, bringing his hand between them. He wants her to go with him, he wants to hear her cry his name, and she does, she cries, and he feels himself exploding inside of her, his ass bucks, a few more thrusts, and she's gone too, feeling her around him as she gasps his name and makes these small incoherent sounds, throwing her head to the side, and he can't stop, his vision is fading to black. It‘s so fucking good because it's her and she's writhing and shivering beneath him as he collapses on top of her and stills every movement with his bulk.

„Don’t you ever leave me, Maggie,“ he whispers and the sentence ends with a strangled sob as he buries his face in the curve of her neck, „and don’t you ever doubt my love for you.“

„Sometimes,“ she lets her hand run down along his spine, feeling another sweet wave of her orgasm rolling over her, weak and soft now, when he gives a last gentle thrust, „love‘s just not enough.“ But her voice is as gentle as her caresses on his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> My blog friends helped me with the transcript of the scene and as always SNQA was my partner in crime with bouncing off ideas and editing.


End file.
